


Us against the World

by Baby_Fangirl



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Differing Plotlines, F/F, Fluff, Interactive Fiction, POV First Person, Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 10:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baby_Fangirl/pseuds/Baby_Fangirl
Summary: This is an interactive Fridget fiction that allows you (the reader) to decide upon which courses of action you want to take. Slowly fall in love with the woman that the world says you can not have; face consequences and obstacles that will come across in your paths; make your own decisions.  This story will be updated whenever I can.





	1. Foreword

FOREWORD

This is an interactive series, where you can decide which paths, storylines and changes this plot will follow. What you think might be a small decision may direct this fiction in a whole new way, with 3 differing plotlines that can be followed.

How it works:

At the end of a chapter, there may be a decision to make and here is an example,

 

  1. Lie _(Read chapter 14)_
  2. Tell the truth _(Read chapter 15)_



You will be following this story from the perspective of Bridget Westfall, and you will be in control of her decisions.

Are you ready? Here’s you first decision.

 

  1. Yes _(Continue onto Chapter 1)_
  2. No _(Go Back)_



 


	2. Chapter 1: The Beginning

Franky Doyle announces her presence with a subtle, yet loud cough, clearing her throat as a wide and mischievous grin plays on her pale lips, twitching like a tiger. “Hey Gidget, ya got time for me?” Doyle leans against the doorway with all her weight, thrusting her hands into the teal pockets of her jacket, her tongue darting out to dampen her lips as she smiles with all teeth.

I cast a glance up at the inmate, perfectly lined jaw raising as I try not to smile as brightly as I was.

“Of course, there’s always time for you, Franky,” I wince, my words had come out far too meaningful than I’d planned, but I still play it as if there is no underlining connection to my words. I’d long since given up on trying to get the dark-haired woman to just call me Bridget; and I had fondly come to accept my new name.

My pale azure eyes let on a weak smile as Doyle flops gracelessly into the chair opposite.

“What do you want to talk about Franky?” I speak in an alluring tone soft, like crushed velvet as I pulled the pen from my white blazer pocket, tapping it rhythmically against my papers.

Franky’s lips pull into a thin line, the corners barely drawing into a smug smirk as a shrug rolls lazily from her shoulders. “Don’t wanna talk. Just sit,” she explained, borderline childlike in the way that she stubbornly sits, waiting for me to try and coax her to do something. _Anything_.

A deep inhale follows a long and delicate sigh that descends from my mouth. I’m almost used to the teasing way that Franky would play, getting me woman to work for my answers; although I know with Doyle, I have to give before I can take. “This is a talking session, Franky. You know I’m always ready to listen… so why don’t you make the most of this time and talk about your problems,”

The inmate seems to bristle at the suggestion, her blue eyes, framed as always by heavy makeup, gaze directly towards me, the cheerfulness seemed to dissipate slightly from her countenance, but the cockiness still remains, “I ain’t got any problems, Gidge,” she reassures heartily.

I remain unconvinced as I fix the younger woman with a glance of disbelief. Doyle was top dog of Wentworth Correctional facility, she ought to have more issues to deal with than the average prison inmate, “Everyone has problems, Franky,”

The girl lets loose her signature shrug and an award-winning smirk that forms an almost deadly combination, ocean blue gaze studying me as if _I_ was the one in the position of a helpless prisoner. Franky licks her lips again.

“What are _your_ problems, then?” throwing her head back slightly in a prompting manner, Francesca Doyle widens her grin.

“Nice try,”

I have to award her for the effort, no matter how futile, and I shake my head slightly, craning my long neck as I leant forward ever so slightly. “You’re a smart girl, Franky, why not try to take your intelligent remarks and turn them into facts, opinions and questions, something we can work with,”.

Franky lingers for a while on the words, as if mentally debating the pros and cons if she were to entertain the idea of playing my game.

“Kay, I got sumthin’ to question ya about. Aren’t you psychologists s’posed to have like, a little bowl of lollies of somethin’ to hand out to the good girls who behave?” Doyle teases smugly playing with the cuffs of her jacket, fidgeting, where I can hardly move.

Carefully, I arch a finely shaped brow, the corners of my lips betraying a genuine smile, that wants to morph into a laugh… but it doesn’t. “ _That’s_ what you wanted to talk about?” my tone comes out playfully incredulous.

“Yup. You bet,” her grin is wide like that of the Cheshire cat, almost inviting me into a private joke that only the two of us shared, like whispered secrets.

I sit back slightly, my shoulders are perfectly angular whilst crossing one leg over the other, a slight grin tingling irresistibly in the very corner of my pink lips. “And would you behave and start talking to me properly, _if_ I somehow smuggled in confectionary to our meetings?” I suggest.

Doyle wore an exaggerated smirk, her lips parting as she feigned a look of over-the-top offense, “Ugh, Gidge, I always behave!” the brunette blinks innocently before relieving the guiltless pretence. “… _Eh_ , I could be persuaded.”

I silence a soft chuckle with a heaving steady sigh, exhaling from my bridged nose as I fixate my balanced stare upon the inmate, “Well, I don’t have anything edible on me at the moment but if you open up to me now, we can discuss an ‘I owe you’,” I offer carefully, leaning on the arm rest.

“Come one Gidget. You sure you ain’t got anythin’ sweet and delicious on ya?” Franky teases, dramatically, winking at me with a mischievous addiction. I can’t help but feel myself blush red in the face, which of course I pretend doesn’t happen.

“Franky…” I begin, but the inmate interrupts me immediately.

“Can we play a game?” Franky blurts almost entirely out of the blue as she leans back in the armchair, angling towards me, both her arms loosely draping over the leather rests. I require a moment to ponder… my degree had never covered what to do if an inmate wanted to suddenly play a game of _‘I spy’_ or something.

“I don’t have a chessboard,” I excuse pointedly (and lamely), practically expecting Doyle’s warming smirk at this point.

“Nah, It’s a simple game. An’ by playing it. You’ll get to know me better.” The taller woman remarks confidently, and that alone perks my sudden interest.

I clear my throat.

“So, what is this game?” I dare to ask, absent-mindedly twirling my pen through slim digits, studying Doyle with the same balance of neutral energy that Franky was giving off shrewd energy.

The brunette tucks up her feet so that she was sitting cross-legged in the opposing chair, white sneakers just hanging off the edge. “We say statements. And if it applies ya, say true of false, simple!”

I’m oddly perplexed by a game with such few rules. “And how do you win this game?”

Franky is quick and eager to respond. “The other person has to lose. And ya lose if you don’t want to confirm or deny… An’ If You say something right, I gotta remove a clothes item, if ya say somethin’ wrong, you do! No lyin’, no avoidin’ the answer, I want to start!” She announces almost like a child wanting to get the first hold of a ‘pass-the-parcel’.

I pause stiffly, a quick rush of surprise runs straight to my head. “I’m sorry?”

Franky has the nerve to forgive my apology.

“Strip True or False? We can’t do that Franky,” I assure with as much confidence that remains.

Doyle blinks, cocking her head to one side, “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

 

  1. Play Strip True or False with Franky _(Continue onto Chapter 2)_
  2. Suggest a drinking game instead _(Continue onto Chapter 3)_



 

 


	3. Chapter 2: Play Strip True or False with Franky

Doyle blinks, cocking her head to one side, “Why not?”

 

It takes me a long while just watching the younger woman trying to come up with a valuable argument, but I’m at a loss… besides, I really do want to get to know more about her. I still manage to hold my professional stance, inwardly wanting to know in which direction this game would be played. I nodded softly. “Alright, we’ll play,”

I wasn’t nervous, I’m a psychologist and I make a living off reading into people, I was sure to get ‘trues’ all around from Franky. But first I get up to lock the door, shuddering at the idea of someone walking in. I adjust the blinds too, before sitting back down. I’m barely back into position before the girl assaults me with her first statement.

“Ya like it when I call you Gidget.” Franky declares, watching me with a hawk-like gaze, as if she would be able to tell if I lied. Doyle was quite literally on the edge of her seat.

Well, there was no harm in such a question, besides the potential removal decided that perhaps this wasn’t as dangerous of a game as she’d thought it might be. Her long neck tilted slightly in a confirming nod. “True.”

Doyle still watches in greedy anticipation, and it hits me that I actually need to oblige. I slide off my jacket and fold it over my lap. 

“See? Your turn,” The prisoner smirks idly, seemingly impressed with my ability to follow the rules.

I consider my affirmation for a moment, there was so much that I wanted to know about the criminal in front of me. “You don’t want to open up to me because you don’t trust me,”

Franky bites teasingly down on her lower lip, before laughing slightly, her shoulders quivering as she does, “False.” _Dammit._ I grumble unhappily, before leaning forward to slip off one shoe. Doyle was good but there was no way she was getting both my shoes for one mistake.

She fidgets again, only pausing a single beat before she has her next acknowledgment, “Ya pretend not to like me teasin’ you, cause your all professional…”

I can’t help but tense up slightly, the muscles in my neck straining slightly before I cough out an undeniable “true.” Taking off my other shoe all the while Franky beams with the results.

“You don’t want to open up to me, because you convince yourself you don’t need help from anyone,” I’m quick off the mark with this one and the inmate was almost unprepared for it.

She’s as still as a statue…. Did she believe that I wouldn’t guess anything right? “True.” The brunette admitted, grabbing her turquoise slacks from the waistband and removing them all together, over her sneakers. I can see the glimpse of a tattoo poking from the inside of her pale thigh.

I don’t know where to look all of a sudden, the blush returning to the tips of my ears.

She hums out loud for a moment before grinning at me, “You have a girlfriend,” Why did that sound like an accusation? Either way I shake my head from side to side, my sandy blonde hair swinging in its pony-tail and tickling the base of my neck.

“False.”

It’s not that I didn’t want a girlfriend, or that I couldn’t get one, it’s just that I only ever know Wentworth correctional facility and home, the only girls I meet are either an inmate or my cat.

But still, I find it liberating to watch Franky unzip her jacket and practically throwing it over the back of her chair.

I clear my throat with the quietest of chuckles before choosing my next statement, “You have a difficult relationship with your family,” That wasn’t so much of a guess, but more of a psychological evaluation, I’ve worked with a lot of women who couldn’t turn to their parents for help.

Franky looks directly at me before shrugging, “True,” her shoes come off, one after the other.

“You’ve got a red lingerie set,” the way she looks at me reminds me of a feral tiger, so close to devouring its prey, so long as it stalks with great care. I’m not exactly lying when I shake my head. It’s black, but it’s not information I’m going to share with my ‘current’ opponent.

Does she look disappointed?

Franky sighs, peeling off a sock.

“Your mother left you,” I give a hopeful shot in the dark, desperate to understand the woman better… Doyle only smirks and swiped her tongue across her lower lip.

“False.” She practically chirps and I’m rather shocked that I got it wrong.

“Your father then?” she clicks her tongue at me somewhat reprimanding.

“Not your turn, Gidge,” I’m torn trying to decide which item of clothing I don’t require as much, I give a triumphant grin when I remember my belt, unbuckling the only thing keeping my leather pants secured around my waist.

There’s a moment of silence that drags for about half a minute, and I’m naive enough to hope that Franky is all out of ideas, and that she might put back on her trousers so that I can breathe once again.

“You’ve had a dream about me,” she finally says aloud, and I cough back into my throat, it tastes sour, and I can hardly believe what I heard. Is she serious? I tilt my head slightly, sighing.

“Franky…” I begin, but she cuts me off in a single second.

“You don’t want to lose, do you?” Now _that_ one was true, I didn’t want to lose, but then again, I still had my reputation and my dignity to uphold, so I couldn’t stall, and I couldn’t lie. Part of me figures that Doyle already knows the truth, and if I answered ‘no’ she’d never trust me again.

“… True.” Gingerly I unbutton my blouse and hold it in my lap, suddenly exposed.

A trail of goose-bumps shower my skin like warm spring rains, prickling up my back and over my arms; I do my very best not to shudder; especially since Doyle is studying me with such intense vigilance.

I can definitely tell the differing angles that we’re both trying to play, I’m trying to figure out her background whereas all Franky’s interested in is me.

I regain my composure, trying not to let the fact that I’m sitting topless in my office distract me any further, “You like being Top tog. You like having control of the inmates, because you never want to feel like someone has control over you ever again, the way your mother did…. She fidgeted true. Franky pulls off her white vest leaving her practically in her underwear and one, white sock.

The look in Franky’s gaze is dangerous, and I know that whatever comes next will be worse than any of her previous statements. I mentally prepare myself for the blow; her bright, cerulean gaze, piercing me in way’s I’ve never known.

“When you dreamt about me… you got off on it.”

It’s like I’ve forgotten how my lungs work, how to use them, what they’re for. I’ve been holding the same breath for what feels like hours; and it’s starting to throb within my chest

I can’t answer that. I shake my head and pull my blouse back over my shoulders, slipping my arms into the sleeves. It’s better to lose this game with my dignity still intact. “I can’t Franky… There’s-”.

 

The door handle rattles, cutting me mid-sentence, and I thank whatever deity that might exist that I chose to lock it earlier. Before I can say anything further, I’m quickly slipping back into my shoes, belt and jacket, and I can see Franky out the corner of my eye, changing back into her prison slacks faster than the speed of light.  The colour of her tattoos glint gloriously in the rush.

I can hear the knock sounding again, more impatient this time; sturdy and obnoxious. My jacket falls into place just as I’m turning the lock, and Franky falls back into her chair, fully clothed and breathless.

The sturdy frame of the governor looms in the doorway to my office, stepping in before I even have the opportunity to ask her business.

“Ms Westfall,” the dark-haired woman acknowledges my existence by sweeping past me, snapping all the attention, like a black hole. “Doyle,” Joan nods curtly, an unimpressed grin tugging at the corner of thin, yet sturdy lips, and all of a sudden, I’m feeling a rush of defence flooding through my veins.

“I’m currently in the middle of a session Ferguson, If you wanted to visit, you have my timetable of appointments,” I point out, leaving the door open as I return to perch on the arm of my chair, leaning against the furniture as casually as I can manage with the Governors unsettling aura filling the room.

“I was hoping to drop by and focus on your psychology methods… why was the door locked?” she pressed, humourless, her pale, stern face set and motionless.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Franky watching us, back and forth, the cocky grin has dissipated, and has been replaced with curiosity and a nervousness which I’ve never seen on the brunette before.

“These are private sessions Governor, even you are not allowed to witness my sessions with the inmates, it’s strictly confidential,” I try to maintain my professionality as I cast a calm blue-eyed gaze up to the authoritative figure.

Joan doesn’t scare me the way she scares everybody else; the woman controlled everyone like she held all the marionette strings, but I didn’t belong to Wentworth and its icy grip that held true to everyone; I didn’t have its name slapped onto a badge, or stitched into my shirt. Ferguson didn’t own me.

And I wouldn’t let her think otherwise.

She inhales sharply, pressing forward even more that I’m forced to stand upright. “I’ll ask you again, Westfall, why was the door locked?”

I’m stranding my ground, deep breaths calming me down with every rise and fall of my shoulders. “Like I said this is a _private_ session,-” I remind her once again, but the words are barely passing my lips when the Governor continues in a quiet, hushed whisper.

“If I were you, I would think long and hard about how you want your reputation to proceed you and what it would mean to be breaking the rules… such discoveries uncovered between you and an inmate, could lead to well, unemployment,” Her words are strong and intimidating, and it’s burning trying to keep her gaze.

Her eyes are dangerous.

For once I’m lost for things to say, and I can’t seem to mumble an excuse, no words are poised on the end of my tongue, offering a reprieve from this awkward situation.

 

“Don’t ya dare talk to her like that!” Franky is suddenly on her feet, her voice had raised, snatching both of our attention, and something within my chest jolts; it’s both impressive and foolish, but either way, a soft grin formulates upon my lips; small and hopeful,

Joan squares her shoulders, towering high above Franky and even higher over me. “I think you ought to return to your cell, now Doyle, don’t you?” a dark brow arches, and I see a twitch of a smirk return to the young brunette’s countenance, grinning at the face of evil.

“Do I? I’m not so sure.” The girl teases, and I bite on the inside of my cheek so that no audible sound of me scoffing at her humour could be heard by Ferguson.

“I say we let Miss Westfall decide your fate,” Joan suggests and I’m caught in surprise as dark, hardened eyes and contrastingly electric blue both turn onto me.

What was I supposed to say?

* * *

 

  1. Let Franky stay _(Continue onto Chapter 4)_
  2. Advise Franky to go _(Continue onto Chapter 5)_




	4. Chapter 3: Suggest a Drinking Game

Doyle blinks, cocking her head to one side, “Why not?”

“Because, Franky, we can’t just get naked in my office,” I say almost teasingly as I watch her face contort between disappointment and smugness, but I haven’t finished, “We can play another game?” I suggest, and my grin widens to see the inmate perk up with interest, as if she was surprised that I’d even continue the conversation.

She shuffles forward and shrugs her shoulders, “Like what?”

I ponder the question for a moment before arching a brow, “Never have I ever?”

A teasing scoff sounds from the young brunettes’ lips, and I just catch a glimpse of her sky-blue eyes rolling, “I didn’t know we were in school… Shall we hold hands, braid each other’s hair and sing Kumbaya too?” her jest is somewhat playful, and I brush it off easily, waiting patiently for an actual response.

“Besides don’t you need alcohol to play that?” Franky inquires, and I reach over to the filing cabinet on my left, unlock the drawer and pull out a small flask, all with one hand; the girl almost guffaws at the sight of it.

“Damn Gidge, who knew you had an interestin’ side?” it’s another joke, one that I smile at ever so slightly.

“Well apparently I need it to get through the week; some of you women really are trouble,” I admit quietly, unscrewing the lid and holding it out for Doyle to take. She runs the hipflask beneath her nose, inhaling the strong scent.

“ ‘Kay, Gidget, you got a deal. Never Have I ever. The winner gets to keep the rest of the flask,” she shakes the metal slightly, the liquid audibly sloshing inside, still rather full. I admire her confidence that I won’t win my own hipflask.

“I’ll go first,” I prompt carefully, hoping to tread lightly at first before peeling back the layers of Franky Doyle via teenage girl games. “Never Have I ever been allergic,” it was just a first stepping stone, and Franky laughed before taking a swallow of whiskey.

“It ain’t bad, but flowers make me sneeze, fuckin’ spring throwing all their pollen into my eyes.” I find that I’m smiling just with that little bit of extra information, and I can actually picture a young, weepy, hay-fevered Franky stomping on daisies for revenge. “Never have I ever fucked on the first date,”

I groan, and take back my flask, taking a small sip, “I have standards, I do… but I was in Venice for a year, and she was amazing, this tanned waitress, and- I’m saying far too much… Never have I ever been thrown out of home,” I cough, wanting to turn the direction of this conversation around.

She takes possession of the flask once again, taking a gulp, “My mum would send me out the house whenever she brought a new man home and wanted to fuck ‘im without me around. She didn’t mind me hearing her and dad fightin’, but God forbid I hear her screaming some other fuckers name,”

Franky seems to regret saying anything at all, and I quickly offer her a kind and understanding smile, soft and candid, before she can work up the regret of opening her mouth, “It’s okay, Franky, honest. It’s still your go,”

The brunette breaks her uneasy frown with an almost delighted smile that I changed the topic, it was clear that she didn’t enjoy her mother being the topic of conversation; and Doyle regained her cocky attitude, like she had the upper hand, “Never have I ever romantically dreamt about a boy,”

“Drink,” I grin back; “Also I’m fairly sure those are called nightmares,” she snorts, and the whisky almost spills over the rim and down her shirt, she coughs down her mouth-full, trying so hard not to laugh. I can’t help but smile at the scenario.

It’s sweet to see the real Franky, and not just a façade that the girl wore for protection or as a front to show the world what she wanted them to see.

“Never have I ever thought about running away,” I contribute and the younger woman hiccoughs before taking another drink, and I’m impressed with my game; but then again, as a psychologist, it’s my job to make these careful assumptions that could explain the reasoning behind my client’s behaviour.

“That’s hardly a fair one, ya know my home was a pile of shit,” Franky whines almost childlike, and I hide back a grin. I’m not cheating, just… observant. The girl sticks out her lower lip in the most adorable pout I have ever witnessed.

“Never have I ever been a psychologist,” She breaks out into quiet laughter that I can’t help but join in with. Now _that_ was cheating.

I take the flask from the inmate, and swallow back the whiskey that warmed my throat. “That was beyond unfair, Franky and you know it,” I tease, the smile upon my lips fully genuine and delicate. I decide to beat Franky at her own game.

A smirk pulls at my features as I lean back, “Never have I ever broke the law,” the inmate playfully groans, long and loud, scowling teasingly.

“Jesus Gidget, Ya just not playing fair,” the younger woman grins at me, and drinks, maintain our stare. She smiled wickedly, on the verge of a whole new break through as she leans forward. “Never have I ever had a crush on a cute girl called Franky,”.

The smirk she wears is superior and I take a deep breath in and I can’t seem to let it go. It’s like I’ve forgotten how my lungs work, how to use them, what they’re for. I’ve been holding the same breath for what feels like hours; and it’s starting to throb within my chest

I can’t confirm that… could I?

I reach for the flask, and just as I take it from Franky, the door starts to open and I immediately hide my flask down the side of the chair, feeling my heart thud heavily in my chest.

The door opens fully and the sturdy frame of the governor looms in the doorway to my office, stepping in before I even have the opportunity to ask her business.

“Ms Westfall,” the dark-haired woman acknowledges my existence by sweeping past me, snapping all the attention, like a black hole. “Doyle,” Joan nods curtly, an unimpressed grin tugging at the corner of thin, yet sturdy lips, and all of a sudden, I’m feeling a rush of defence flooding through my veins.

“I’m currently in the middle of a session Ferguson, If you wanted to visit, you have my timetable of appointments,” I point out, leaving the door open as I return to perch on the arm of my chair, leaning against the furniture as casually as I can manage with the Governors unsettling aura filling the room.

“I was hoping to drop by and focus on your psychology methods… Am I interrupting?” she pressed arrogantly, her pale, stern face set and motionless.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Franky watching us, back and forth, the cocky grin has dissipated, and has been replaced with curiosity and a nervousness which I’ve never seen on the brunette before.

“These are private sessions Governor, even you are not allowed to witness my sessions with the inmates, it’s strictly confidential,” I try to maintain my professionality as I cast a calm blue-eyed gaze up to the authoritative figure.

Joan doesn’t scare me the way she scares everybody else; the woman controlled everyone like she held all the marionette strings, but I didn’t belong to Wentworth and its icy grip that held true to everyone; I didn’t have its name slapped onto a badge, or stitched into my shirt. Ferguson didn’t own me.

And I wouldn’t let her think otherwise.

She inhales sharply, pressing forward even more that I’m forced to stand upright. “Do I have to remind you that I am the Governor around here?”

I’m stranding my ground, deep breaths calming me down with every rise and fall of my shoulders. “Like I said this is a _private_ session,-” I remind her once again, but the words are barely passing my lips when the Governor continues in a quiet, hushed whisper.

“If I were you, I would think long and hard about how you want your reputation to proceed you and what it would mean to be breaking the rules… such discoveries uncovered between you and an inmate, could lead to well, unemployment,” Her words are strong and intimidating, and it’s burning trying to keep her gaze.

Her eyes are dangerous.

For once I’m lost for things to say, and I can’t seem to mumble an excuse, no words are poised on the end of my tongue, offering a reprieve from this awkward situation.

 

“Don’t ya dare talk to her like that!” Franky is suddenly on her feet, her voice had raised, snatching both of our attention, and something within my chest jolts; it’s both impressive and foolish, but either way, a soft grin formulates upon my lips; small and hopeful,

Joan squares her shoulders, towering high above Franky and even higher over me. “I think you ought to return to your cell, now Doyle, don’t you?” a dark brow arches, and I see a twitch of a smirk return to the young brunette’s countenance, grinning at the face of evil.

“Do I? I’m not so sure.” The girl teases, and I bite on the inside of my cheek so that no audible sound of me scoffing at her humour could be heard by Ferguson.

“I say we let Miss Westfall decide your fate,” Joan suggests and I’m caught in surprise as dark, hardened eyes and contrastingly electric blue both turn onto me.

What was I supposed to say?

* * *

 

  1. Let Franky stay _(Continue onto Chapter 4)_
  2. Advise Franky to go _(Continue onto Chapter 5)_




End file.
